An Ineffable History
by GemmaNye
Summary: We got a taste of Aziraphale and Crowley’s companionship throughout history, yet it only scratched the surface... (collection of oneshots of the ineffable husbands throughout history, fluff-ish drabbles)


**A Distinctly Ominous Alley**

**New York**

**1928**

A young man, cloaked in shadows that seemed to bend and shift so as not to inconvenience him, hurried furtively down one of New York's back streets - this one particularly sinister for reasons most couldn't quite put their finger on. This figure was well aware why however, since he always did his very best to summon an an atmosphere of foreboding and dread when it best suited him (when trying to evade the police being the prime and perhaps sole example). But it really was imperative that he wasn't caught, since this was certainly not his first misdemeanour and he wasn't too keen on it being his last. As such, he maintained complete silence and composure, for one couldn't be arrested for a crime that nobody saw you committing.

However, silence and composure didn't quite appear to be at all present or indeed accounted for in his companion's vocabulary.

"Aziraphale, for the love of God be quiet!" He hissed, throwing his head back with exasperation after his friend had loudly stumbled into some dustbins, sending metal objects crashing and rattling in every direction for the third time in as many minutes. It was very much as if, in the last five minutes, the Angel had divinely amalgamated the exact grace, depth of vision and equilibrium of a door handle.

"Sorry" Aziraphale whispered, brushing off his (long-since immaculate) white suit with a groan "but most of us don't have the demonic ability to see in the dark" he barely contained the rolled eyes which underlined his remark.

"Nothing demonic about it..." Crowley muttered, fixing his fedora in the reflection of a shattered window to ensure that his short red hair stuck out of it perfectly.

"If you've quite finished preening, dear, I do believe we were about to partake in something illegal" Aziraphale didn't quite mask his distaste.

"Oh yeah, absolutely, uh- follow me" he turned to go but then paused for a moment, taking his glasses off and pointing them at the Angel momentarily to fully convey the meaning behind his request "_quietly"_

———————————————————————

A pale hand stretched forward into the dim glow of a fluorescent light in the darkness. It formed a loose fist and rapped on the musty green door three times before it was retracted back into the blackness, revealing that it was attached to an arm, which was attached to a shoulder, which was in fact attached to a Crowley.

In the breathless and slightly nervous silence, the sound of hurried footsteps soon got louder until a pair of dark eyes snapped into view from behind a shutter on the door.

"Who the hell are you?" A deep New Jersey voice barked in a conserved manner, as if saving his energy to do some proper shouting in due course.

"Mr Crowley and Mr Phale, my good sir" Crowley spoke in his best proper English accent, grinning sarcastically at the formalities of this man. Aziraphale knew his friend was pushing his luck with these New Jersey types - even though the pair had only been here for a week by the Angel's request, they got the feeling that they were all of a dangerous or at the very least, mildly judgemental creed.

The doorman's eyes narrowed suspiciously "Hey, you're no-"

Crowley rolled his eyes and clicked his fingers. An unfocused, dreamy look passed over the dark eyes behind the door. "Ye- absolutely... do come in, sirs"

The door, painted in a flaking hue one could only describe as _swampish, _creaked quickly open, revealing a steep set of stairs which the faint strains of jazz music were drifting upwards. Aziraphale gave his companion a wide-eyed look, his gaze flitting between Crowley and the blank looking doorman, scandalised.

Instead of apologising or acknowledging this exchange in any way whatsoever, Crowley grinned and said "gents first", holding the door open for Aziraphale and ushering him in politely.

"Unbelievable" The Angel said under his breath as he began to descend the stairs - Crowley could do an excellent impression of an idiot when he put his mind to it.

When the pair reached the bottom, they were plunged into a thick cloud of tobacco smoke, which the Angel couldn't really see the point of, since cigarettes were incredibly cheap, took people's minds off their misery and were full of toxic chemicals. Naturally, Crowley could see and sympathise with their lasting appeal to the human race.

Coughing and spluttering, Aziraphale stepped out into the slow music and sinister chatter of the dingy bar, which almost immediately fell silent as every head turned to face the newcomer, who couldn't have looked more like a police informer if he'd had the word 'grass' painted across his forehead. Crowley, expecting something like this (although not quite to this magnitude), quickly sauntered in front of the obliviously smiling Angel and batted a hand nonchalantly.

"It's fine, he's with me, lads"

Somewhat satisfied by this malevolent figure who blended in slightly better than his sickeningly cheery friend, the hustle, bustle and jazz music faded back into being. The Demon, maintaining his now futile attempt at anonymity, grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and dragged him off towards an empty booth, who yelped at this sudden change in direction.

"I believe they call that" Crowley groaned as he lowered himself onto the leather seat "an inauspicious start"

"Could have been worse"

"Could it? How could it have been much worse than that?" Crowley raised an eyebrow

"The other day I tried to buy a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild the other day and the cashier..." Aziraphale trailed off, absent-mindedly raising a hand to his jaw.

"He hit you in the face, didn't he" Crowley said slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, I'm afraid so" he said incredulously, as if unsure why anybody could have the desire to punch him in the face (obviously, Aziraphale wasn't quite as self-aware as he believed himself to be).

"Well tell me who it is and I'll curse the bastard" the Demon looked ready to do so, as the Angel could see his yellow pupils dilate slightly from behind his dark glasses.

"No, it's fine, really" Aziraphale smiled politely.

"Well, I'm not quite sure what you were thinking asking any Tom, Dick and Harry for a bottle of" He put on a mocking accent "_Chateau Lafite Rothschild _in the midst of prohibition! I've seen fewer sober people in a nunnery, Angel, you've really got to be careful"

"Ah, well" Aziraphale said wistfully, checking his watch "at least you're here this time so, if everything goes according to plan, we should be nice and inebriated in the next hour or so"

"Why did you even want to come here? Everybody's sober and on the occasions when they're not, the police are out to get you. I've already had to miracle myself out of jail" Crowley shrugged slightly before admitting "...twice" he pointed at the Angel "and have you ever tried to perform miracles _drunk?_ It's like... like flying a plane backwards"

Aziraphale's eyebrows raised inquiringly.

"It's incredibly dangerous and you could end up anywhere" he answered exasperatedly

"I just thought it would be nice to travel... experience the culture, try the food and whatnot" Aziraphale smiled weakly.

"Try the food? It's exactly the same as ours but deep-fried" Crowley reasoned whilst looking incredulously at his companion before raising a hand to summon the barman, who suddenly dropped the glass he was holding before making a beeline to them.

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly as if he knew Crowley was right but wasn't quite comfortable acknowledging it. He did somewhat regret the trip, partly because of the atmosphere of low-grade evil that hung over the city like a thick smog (concentrated most heavily over investment banks and law firms) but most because the Angel had now been stone cold sober for an entire week and was starting to get itchy teeth.

"A copious amount of alcohol please, my good man" Crowley requested of the short bartender who, like most people in the small underground space, had a rolled cigarette clenched between his lips.

"Care to be more specific?" The bartender retorted, exhaling a stream of acrid smoke which enveloped Crowley's face.

The Demon didn't flinch, and his face slowly contorted into a smirk, "no" he said simply, turning back to Aziraphale and dismissing the flustered barman with a wave of his hand.

"Do you think downstairs will believe it was me who caused the Great Depression?" The Demon wondered idly, tapping his fingers on the stained table.

"Wh- what would that be" Aziraphale looked concerned.

"A quality piece of evil that could get me a commendation" Crowley looked as if he were plotting very quickly in his head.

"Well I suppose so, but this is all going to bite you in the... the backside one day, Crowley. It's bad enough that you claimed responsibility for the Spanish Inquisition a couple centuries ago, especially so out of the blue like that."

The barman slammed two shots down onto the table in front of them, not out of spite but out of the desperation to look dangerous that prevailed in establishments like this so as to not get mugged or shot (or cursed in Crowley's case).

"Well I suppose no one really expected that.." Crowley spoke slowly, swiping his glass up with a bony hand.

"Well..." Aziraphale lifted his own glass politely "to the world, I guess"

Crowley clinked the tiny glasses together before giving a charming smile that flustered the Angel and made his face go red despite himself.

"To the world"


End file.
